tters I have had from him ... all very
kind!--and _that_ reminds me, alas! of some ineffable ingratitude on
my own part! When one's conscience grows too heavy, there is nothing
for it but to throw it away!--

Do you remember how I tried to tell you what he said of you, and how
you would not let me?

Mr. Mathews said of _him_, having met him once in society, that he was
the concentration of conceit in appearance and manner. But since then
they seem to be on better terms.

Where is the meaning, pray, of E.B._C._? _your_ meaning, I mean?

My true initials are E.B.M.B.--my long name, as opposed to my short
one, being Elizabeth Barrett Moulton Barrett!--there's a full length
to take away one's breath!--Christian name ... Elizabeth
Barrett:--surname, Moulton Barrett. So long it is, that to make it
portable, I fell into the habit of doubling it up and packing it
closely, ... and of forgetting that I was a _Moulton_, altogether. One
might as well write the alphabet as all four initials. Yet our
family-name is _Moulton Barrett_, and my brothers reproach me
sometimes for sacrificing the governorship of an old town in Norfolk
with a little honourable verdigris from the Heralds' Office. As if I
cared for the _Retrospective Review_! Nevertheless it is true that I
would give ten towns in Norfolk (if I had them) to own some purer
lineage than that of the blood of the slave! Cursed we are from
generation to generation!--I seem to hear the 'Commination Service.'

May God bless you always, always! beyond the always of this world!--

Your

E.B.B.

Mr. Dickens's 'Cricket' sings repetitions, and, with considerable
beauty, is extravagant. It does not appear to me by any means one of
his most successful productions, though quite free from what was
reproached as bitterness and one-sidedness, last year.

You do not say how you are--not a word! And you are wrong in saying
that you 'ought to have written'--as if 'ought' could be in place
_so_! You _never 'ought' to write to me you know_! or rather ... if
you ever think you ought, you ought not! Which is a speaking of
mysteries on my part!

_R.B. to E.B.B._

Sunday Night.
[Post-mark, December 22, 1845.]

Now, '_ought_' you to be 'sorry you sent that letter,' which made, and
makes me so happy--so happy--can you bring you